The Great Pretender
by Nienna Nir
Summary: Steve's settling into his new life and slowly learning to make friends with his new team. Everyone but Tony that is. The man must have a thousand patents and Steve's pretty sure he holds the one on being an irritating pain in the ass. Part of the Series: Coulson Lives, but the Avengers might be the death of him.


Thor let out a strangled cry, and Steve's head snapped up to see his face contorted in horror, his arms flailing. He gaped for only a moment, frozen in place with wide eyes.

"I am defeated," Thor scowled, half heartedly pitching a throw pillow at the television. He rolled his shoulders in frustration as he sat in the middle of the rec room floor, his legs folded in front of him

"Don't take this the wrong way," Steve shook his head. "But you are the worst Mario Kart player in history, Thor."

"Much practice has not availed me," Thor agreed, sighing as his Kart limped over the finish line in last place. He started a new race and Steve looked up from his comic book, letting it fall against his chest as he stretched out on the sofa.

"Do you actually know _how_ to drive?" Steve asked, his brow creasing as Thor's Kart skidded against one of the walls.

"Perhaps if you were to provide instruction, Stephen?" Thor suggested hopefully, turning half around to offer up his most charming grin. His Kart wiped out and Steve choked on a laugh as Thor turned back to the TV with a frustrated frown.

"You are completely on your own, pal," Steve declared, hiding his amusement behind his comic book.

Steve peered around the edge of his comic book as covertly as he could manage, though he really needn't have bothered. Thor was far too absorbed in his game to take notice.

Steve had only moved into Stark Tower a few short months ago. Avenger's Tower now, he reminded himself. The large logo on the launch balcony attested to that. He supposed he'd settled into something of a routine that resembled an actual life in this new world. He went for a run every morning, he trained with Thor or Natasha every afternoon. He went to the firing range with Clint whom he could never beat, even with his enhanced eye sight and reflexes. That was probably good for him. It kept him humble.

He taught boxing at a local charity gym for at risk teens on Tuesdays and Thursdays, which Pepper had graciously set up for him. She had claimed that the Maria Stark Foundation was funding the program and needed volunteers but her cajoling smile had convinced him that it was for him as much as for the kids. He liked the kids, they expected him to be old and out of touch so they didn't think anything of it when he missed their jokes or references. And they seemed to like him well enough, Pepper said it was good for them to have a positive male role model. Steve thought it was good for him to have positive Twenty-First Century role models, but he didn't mention that to anyone else.

Every Saturday morning he taught a self defense class for young women at the YMCA. That had been Coulson's idea, good for PR, and he'd balked at first. But it turned out he really wasn't a bad teacher and he did enjoy it. He still found women intimidating but they were easier to talk to when he was encouraging them to hit him as hard as they could.

He read a lot, and Bruce had proven a wonderful resource for that. As far as he could tell Bruce had read most of the floors of the New York Public Library. He always had a suggestion or an insight or a quip that put a smile on Steve's face. He read a lot of history but he read a lot of fiction as well and Bruce loved a good book discussion, even if it was a book he hadn't read in quite a while.

He worked on his drawing. He'd hidden his sketchbooks at first but he'd given that up for lost when he found out most of the free world had already seen his pencil sketches from the war. He'd almost had a heart attack the first time he'd attended a fund raiser at the Maria Stark Foundation and spotted one of his own landscapes of the French countryside hanging on the wall of Stark mansion in a garishly opulent frame.

And he'd adapted. He'd learned to use internet search engines and email. He'd learned to send text messages, something that, apparently, was a necessity if you were going to live in the same town as Tony Stark, to say nothing of the same building.

He hadn't really figured out Tony.

Sometimes they seemed okay. Tony was occasionally abrasive but not really malicious, at least not intentionally. Steve struggled to overlook the unintentional moments as best he could. They argued and bickered about everything from battle strategy to what takeout to order but it couldn't really be called fighting. Well, most of the time it wasn't fighting.

He'd wanted to like Tony, he'd really wanted to like Tony. And maybe that was the whole problem. That day on the Helicarrier he'd looked into a face that was more familiar than any he'd seen since he'd awoken and there had been a surge in his chest, a feeling like turing down your street toward home after being gone so long that everything looked just a bit different.

He'd been desperate for that connection to his past, to something, to anything. He hadn't needed Tony to be Howard but he'd wanted Tony to be like family, like meeting a distant cousin for the first time, sharing that sense of kinship. It hadn't been that way though.

Tony wasn't Howard but he was so much like his father, and he was nothing like him. The things that were like Howard were painful reminders, and the things that weren't were bitter disappointments and none of that was Tony's fault. Steve had met Tony with a head full of preconceived notions and Tony had failed spectacularly to live up to every last one of them.

And in spite of all of that, Tony had had Steve's back when it counted most. Had made room for all of them in his home, more than that, had made it _their_ home. Tony had carefully crafted every inch of Avenger's Tower to make all their lives as secure and easy and relaxed as possible, from Bruce's customized lab to the voice activated tech in Steve's suite so he wouldn't have to struggle with buttons he didn't understand. Every amenity was at their fingertips.

And Steve still didn't _get_ the man.

"No," Tony sighed in frustration, rolling his eyes as he loped down the stairs with an easy, elegant gait. It had taken Steve ages to get used to people seemingly talking to themselves though cell phone ear pieces, but no one seemed to make it look quite as unhinged as Tony. "Yes... no... dear god, fine... fine, fine... fine... son of a... No!" Steve shouldn't laugh, he really shouldn't but Tony's exasperated expression and flailing arms were kind of begging for it.

"Look, I'll come over and pick it up," Tony snapped angrily. "Don't let them... touch... _anything_!" His hands balled into fists and he shook them at nothing, Steve buried his face in his comic book.

"Oh my god what the hell are you reading?" Tony's voice was scandalized and Steve blinked several times before peering around the edge of his comic book.

"What?" he asked in bewilderment.

"Superman?" Tony demanded, an expression on his face that would be better suited to catching someone reading Playboy in a church.

"What's wrong with..." Steve began but Tony cut him off.

"Oh my god, he's reading _Superman_ in my rec room!" Tony was staring at him as if he'd just bashed a bunch of orphans with his shield. "How many Captain America comics are there in this tower and you're reading Superman?!"

"Three hundred and twenty seven," Natasha declared, her expression disinterested as she headed for the kitchen, toweling off her sweaty hair, Clint close on her heels.

"Don't let him give you grief, Cap," Clint advised with a grin. "he's just annoyed that Batman is outselling Iron Man this quarter."

"He doesn't even have any cool tech!" Tony complained. "and the movies suck! And our comics fund schools in Africa!"

"I read these when I was a kid, Tony," Steve sighed trying not to sound annoyed. "It's called nostalgia, maybe you've heard of it." Tony pulled a face.

"Coulson would totally loan you his Captain America comics," Tony insisted.

"I don't like Captain America comics," Steve protested.

"Did you hear that, Coulson?" Tony demanded of his phone before turning back to Steve. "I hope you're happy, you just completely eviscerated Agent's childhood."

"They were cheesy," Steve sighed. "And it's just weird reading comics with your own face in them!"

"I read Iron Man comics," Tony argued.

"You're a narcissist!" Natasha called from the kitchen.

"Yes... What does that have to do with anything?" Tony seemed to be trying to have a conversation with both Phil and Natasha but finally gave up. "Fine, I'm leaving, I'm coming, I'm already on my way there. If they touch anything I will end them!" Tony pulled the earbud from his ear with a scowl.

"Why are you still laying on the couch?" he asked, looking down at Steve.

"Because I haven't finished my comic yet," Steve answered defensively.

"Well you can finish that abomination later," Tony sighed, waving at the door. "Change into something so we can go. I have to stop at SHIELD headquarters on the way now and take some alien robo-squid off their hands before it tries to eat the face off another junior agent."

"What?" Steve gaped at him.

"I know!" Clint rolled his eyes, leaning out through the kitchen doorway. "I mean, it's no wonder turnover is so high."

"Turnover should be higher," Tony insisted with a frown. "better yet they should take all the ones who completely screw up in proby and use them for target practice during the next recruitment round." Clint nodded in agreement, disappearing into the kitchen again.

"So anyway," Tony said. "We have to stop there first, and I am not going to be seen with you dressed like that. At least put on jeans and shoes... well maybe not jeans, Lal's got that new assistant who's probably going to lose his teeth over you even if you wear a burlap sack. Unless you're into guys? Because if you are it's cool... you might want to go for it, actually, he's an attractive kid."

"Tony what in the name of hell are you talking about?" Steve demanded, gaping up at him with a baffled expression.

"I'm talking about you going down to Bhambi's for a fitting on your tux," Tony declared as if he were an idiot. "I told Pep she couldn't take you because you'd die if she saw you getting measured in your underwear. I'm pretending to be considerate but really I just don't want her looking at your ass, now can we go?"

"My... tux?" Steve was sure his brain was slipping gears.

"Yes, your tux," Tony snapped. "The Maria Stark Foundation annual ball is in three weeks and you don't have a tux. And I am not going to be seen with you in some off the rack thing you rented on the corner. I still have my pride."

"Really?" Clint called in surprise.

"Shut up, Barton," Tony snarled. "and don't think you're getting off, Coulson's taking you out tomorrow." Steve could hear a hushed string of expletives coming from the kitchen.

"I wore my uniform to the last fundraiser," Steve protested with a sigh. "I appreciate the offer, Tony, but I don't see any point in spending that kind of money."

"That was a cocktail party," Tony rolled his eyes. "this is a black tie gala and if I'm not allowed to show up in a linen suit, you're most definitely not wearing the uniform. Now we're going to my tailor's and we're getting you a tux, so get up, chop chop."

"I wasn't... I'm not..." Steve floundered for a moment, biting his lip with a helpless expression.

"Not what?" Tony demanded in exasperation. "Not being helpful?"

"I wasn't planning on going," Steve stated lamely, staring at his comic book.

"When I asked, you said you'd go!" Tony complained.

"I said I'd think about it!" Steve answered defensively. "And I've thought about it and I'm not going."

"This isn't about me, you know," Tony leveled a scowl at him. "It's about the Foundation and the fact that it takes money to rebuild shit after aliens and giant robots mash the hell out of it and most people can't afford it."

"I wasn't implying..." Steve's brow knitted and Tony let out a huff of frustration.

"You're making it really hard for me not to be an asshole here!" Tony interrupted. "So let's just make a deal; I'll put you in a tux and you'll let a few middle aged women have the thrill of their lives swanning across the ball room in the arms of Captain America, and then I'll have the foundation rebuild a nice community center somewhere in Brooklyn and put your mom's name on it and we'll all be happy, right?"

"Tony," Steve sighed miserably.

"It is a most generous and noble offer," Thor declared, his attention still fixated on the Wii, his kart smashing into the wall and skidding in circles. Steve let out a groan.

"Why are you still here?" Pepper asked with a frown as she appeared at the top of the steps, her mug clutched in her hand. "Tony I thought you said you'd take him to the tailor's."

"I'm trying!" Tony waved his arms. "He's being difficult!"

"Geeze, what's the problem?" Clint demanded, leaning in at the doorway from the kitchen. "If you two are going to fight like cats, Stark, take it to the gym! Some of us are trying to relax with the spare twenty minutes we have free this week!"

"I can't dance, all right?" Steve bit his lip as silence descended over the rec room. He hadn't meant to shout, and he dipped his head, a blush coloring his cheeks. He drew in a shaky breath before continuing softly. "I never learned how."

No one made a sound and Steve was viscerally aware of Natasha appearing in the doorway of the kitchen behind Clint.

"Why are you looking at me like this is my fault?" Tony demanded in a huff. Steve glanced up at him warily to find Pepper glaring at Tony with a put upon expression.

"How do you manage to maintain any friendships at all?" she asked with a sigh.

"Money," Tony deadpanned. Clint let out a snort of a laugh as Steve opened his mouth to protest. He certainly was't going to let Tony think he only stuck around because Stark was wealthy enough to finance their every waking moment.

"On your feet," Pepper ordered, curling a finger at Steve. "Let's go."

"Pep," Tony protested as Steve hastily clambered to do her bidding. He wasn't sure why but somehow he was never quite comfortable with refusing to do anything Pepper asked of him. At first he thought it was because her authoritative air was too much like his own mother's to ignore. Then he'd resized she had a death glare that would have made Col. Phillips quake in his boots.

"I'm not letting you teach him how to dance," Pepper insisted, grasping Steve's right hand and placing it on her upper back. "I don't trust you to behave." Steve blushed as she took his left hand in hers, slipping her other hand up his arm to his shoulder.

"Umm, Pepper," he protested nervously. "I'm not sure... you're Tony's girl." Pepper sighed as if she'd just been faced with half dozen dilemmas and couldn't decide which one to thoroughly obliterate first.

"Look," she answered finally. "Let's just shorten this for time; There's nothing inappropriate in this day and age about dancing with someone who's involved with someone else so long as you keep it discrete... which shouldn't be a problem for you." She shot a look at Tony here and he threw up his arms in exasperation.

"If this is what I get for being on my best behavior," Tony sulked. "I'm going back to being a drunken ass."

"And," Pepper continued, turning back to Steve as if she hadn't heard him. "I am no one's 'girl'." She gave him a pointed look and Steve nodded.

"I should make popcorn," Clint declared with a grin that made Steve blush. He let out a grunt of pain as Natasha jabbed him in the ribs.

"All right," Pepper stated in her most business like tone. "Stand tall, shoulder's back, head up." Steve snapped to attention and Pepper smiled in satisfaction.

"I know that look," Tony declared. "That's your smug look."

"Afraid I've found a new dance partner?" Pepper asked, throwing him a teasing smile.

"Yes," Tony nodded warily. "Actually, yes." Her grinned widened and she turned back to Steve, giving him a wink.

"We'll start you out on a waltz," She declared. "That'll get you though one gala easily. You lead on your right foot, step forward, feet together, step right, feet together, step back, feet together, step left." She walked him slowly though the box step, his heart hammering in his chest.

"Breathe, Steve," Pepper coached gently. Steve flushed and she bit back a giggle. "All right, let's give it a try. Play it again, Jarvis." As Time Goes By, lilted over the sound system, Billie Holliday's crooning voice filling the air around them.

"I know this song," Steve's face broke in a smile.

"There, that's the right expression," Pepper smiled back. "Let's give it a try." Steve's feet seemed to stutter haltingly across the carpet as he struggled to keep time and remember the steps.

"Geeze cap, you have two left feet," Tony shook his head as Thor abandoned his Wii to lean over the back of the sofa, watching them.

"Button it, Tony," Pepper ordered, her eyes narrowing. "he's doing fine for his first try. Relax just a little bit, Steve."

"I'm going to step on your feet," Steve insisted nervously.

"You're in your socks, I'll live," Pepper gave him a smirk.

"Think of it like boxing," Natasha suggested, her fingers tangling in Clint's sleeve as she hustled him out into the middle of the rec room, slipping into his arms with the ease of long practice. Steve watched them out of the corner of his eye. "It's all feints and slipping and bobbing and footwork." Steve stopped dead a moment, staring at Natasha and Clint as they moved across the floor in fluid motion. It took him a moment but suddenly he was seeing it, everything Natasha said. He let out half a laugh before looking back at Pepper, making sure his hands were in the right place before starting again.

"You're a quick study," Pepper observed.

"I take it all back," Tony agreed. "You're not a total loss after all." Steve tried to ignore him as Pepper shot him a withering look.

"I'm sort of pretending you're trying to kill me," Steve admitted, blushing.

"It's a high society event," Natasha stated drily. "That's not an unrealistic scenario."

"I'd accuse you of being jaded but then I'd be implying that you're wrong," Tony stated. Clint let out a laugh.

"Here, practice with Nat," he suggested, handing her off to Steve and seamlessly cutting in on Pepper. "You need to get a feel for dancing with a different partner." Steve stumbled a moment before finding his footing again and he flashed Natasha a warm smile that she returned.

"I think I might be getting the hang of this," Steve admitted.

"What's all this?" Bruce asked in amusement, appearing in the doorway as Billie Holiday drifted away to be replaced by the Platters.

"Dance lessons," Clint answered. Steve didn't recognize the song, but it had a slight familiarity to it, undoubtably from all his research into the music history he'd missed in seventy years. He was getting just comfortable enough with the dance to let his attention wander a bit.

_Oh, yes I'm the great pretender_

_Pretending that I'm doing well_

_My need is such I pretend too much_

_I'm lonely but no one can tell_

"Move it, Legolas, I'm cutting in," Tony declared, brushing Clint aside and pulling Pepper into his arms.

"Watch them a minute," Natasha suggested, tilting her head in Tony and Pepper's direction. "Maybe you can pick up a little flair."

"I'm all flair," Tony declared smugly. And for once Steve agreed it wasn't exaggeration. Tony's steps were fluid and effortless and he'd pulled Pepper much, much closer than she'd been when Steve had danced with her, obviously what Pepper had meant when she told him to be discrete. Something nameless twisted in his stomach and he drew his attention back to Natasha, testing a subtle, lighter change to his footwork.

_Oh, yes I'm the great pretender_

_Adrift in a world of my own_

_I've played the game but to my real shame_

_You've left me to grieve all alone_

"You are doing well, Stephen," Thor declared with satisfaction.

"Thanks," Steve gave him a smile. Clint had been right, dancing with Natasha was much different than dancing with Pepper. Where Pepper was all precision and power, Natasha was lithe grace, like a leaf on the wind. The curl of her auburn hair brushed his cheek and her more voluptuous frame reminded him of another woman he'd once known, all soft edges and fire inside.

"Do you dance, Thor?" Clint asked in surprise.

"Aye, my Jane taught me your traditional dances," Thor declared, nodding. "Though young Darcy says that I am ill suited to the Tango." Natasha let out a soft laugh and Steve couldn't help but smile. Since he'd come to spend more time with her he'd found she wasn't nearly as cold and serious as she appeared.

_Too real is this feeling of make-believe_

_Too real when I feel what my heart can't conceal_

And couldn't he almost imagine another dance that never was? Brunette curls instead of red, soft brown eyes instead of green and that achingly familiar alto whispering against his ear. His hand tightened reflexively in the middle of Natasha's back and even before he could think to mask it, she pulled back just a bit, giving him a searching look.

_Yes, I'm the great pretender_

_Just laughing and gay like a clown_

_I seem to be what I'm not, you see_

_I'm wearing my heart like a crown_

_Pretending that you're still around_

His stomach pitched and the world skewed and for a moment, one beautiful, terrible moment he would have sworn he could smell her perfume. He staggered back a step, the memory hitting him like a punch to the chest.

"Cap?" Natasha's finger's curled gently around his upper arm, trying to steady him but he shook her off. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't get air. He was falling, sinking, his name on Peggy's lips and he couldn't breathe to answer.

There wasn't any air.

"Steve?"

"I'm sorry," he gasped out. But it wasn't Natasha he was apologizing to. He turned on his heel, darting up the stair's two at a time, his vision tunneling until the floor was just a pinprick of light in front of him. He had to get air, to feel the wind on his face and not the cold ice closing over him. Something. Anything. He staggered into the living room, his hands grasping at over the edge of the bar, keeping him upright. He heaved himself up the landing toward the doors of the launch balcony, tearing them open with nearly enough force to rip them off their hinges.

He lurched out into the afternoon sun, his fingers curling around the rail as his knees turned to jelly, and he drew in a ragged breath, and another. He wasn't drowning, there was air, plenty of air. His hands were shaking and he bit back a pained groan, willing the tears from the corners of his eyes.

He stood there, panting in the wind that blistered the mountain range of New York skyscrapers, their sharp peaks jutting into the sky. His breathing began to steady and in a few moments he was aware of a presence on the other side of the glass, just outside his line of vision. He turned his head slightly and winced.

Tony.

He really didn't need this right now. It was just too much effort not to fight with the man, to resist the urge to punch him. He closed his eyes, praying Tony would stay on his side of the glass and just give Steve a moment of peace to pull himself together.

He opened his eyes when he heard the door snick open. No such luck.

"I'm fine," he declared, licking his lips, his voice less steady than he would have liked. "It's just... something threw me for a loop. It happens. It's nothing to worry about, you don't need to check on me, I'll be fine once I catch my breath." He could hear Tony's feet shift on the balcony and he closed his eyes again, letting his chin sink to his chest as he drew in another slow, ragged breath.

"Peggy?" Tony asked hesitantly. Steve's head jerked up and he stared at the other man with wide eyes.

"How did..."

"Geeze, Cap, do you not even remember who my dad is?" Tony asked rolling his eyes as he slumped casually against the glass door. Steve blushed, looking away.

"Did you... see her much?" Steve asked finally. He wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer. What if Tony had hardly known her at all? What if he had known everything about her? They both seemed equally horrible right now.

"Aunt Peggy visited pretty regularly," Tony nodded, leaning his head back against the glass with a fond smile. "You know she's the one that bought me my first Lego set? I think it was my third birthday."

"Tony, those toys are marked five and up," Steve countered with an expression that was both amused and disapproving.

"Well don't blame me, I didn't buy it!" Tony shot him his most roguish grin. "We sprawled out on the parlor floor all afternoon and built a scale model of Red Skull's secret base together. And then she had the little lego people act out the attack. Did you really kiss her standing on a moving car and then jump onto a plane?" Tony asked the question with a fair amount of incredulity as if he'd been plagued by it all his life. Steve's face flushed crimson.

"Holy shit!" Tony's grin widened.

"She kissed me," Steve protested.

"Yeah, right," Tony ribbed. "because shy guys drive Harleys through the front gates of secret Hydra bases every day. You can just give up that routine, I'm not buying it any more." Steve's blush deepened as he smiled and Tony let out a chuckle.

"We had a date," Steve's voice wavered and he bit his lip to keep it from trembling.

"Yeah, she talked about that," Tony nodded, all teasing gone from his tone. "Dad would tell her all the time that as soon as he found you he was going to give you hell for standing her up."

"She was going to teach me how to dance," Steve half choked on the words, only barely hearing the muffled curses Tony let out under his breath.

"Steve, look at me," There was a gentleness in Tony's voice that surprised him and Steve raised his eyes to meet the other man's. "I didn't always get on with my dad, I'd fight with him even more than with you." Steve winced at that and Tony let out a sigh.

"But I admired the hell out of him, and I adored Aunt Peggy," he admitted. "You meant a lot to them. But they're not here, so for them, I'm telling you; make this time around as good as you can." Steve nodded, looking at his feet.

"And if that means you just can't do this," Tony waved his hand at the door dismissively. "Then just say so and I'll call Bhambi's and cancel your appointment. I'll make it up to Lal. He's used to my level of stupid, he won't think anything of it."

"It's for the Foundation," Steve stated softly. "It'll build a lot of youth centers and clinics and shelters."

"Yeah it will," Tony admitted uncomfortably. "But none of that makes up for the past. I know that better than anybody." Steve swallowed dragging his hand over his face with a sigh.

"Why do we butt heads all the time?" he asked miserably.

"Because you're uptight and I'm an asshole," Tony shrugged nonchalantly. Steve bit his lip to keep from laughing.

"I guess I could try to be less uptight," Steve offered. Tony opened his mouth to answer but then closed it, frowning in consideration.

"Nah, I'm still going to be an asshole," he declared resolutely. Steve couldn't help but laugh at that.

"So it's all on me then?" Steve asked with a wry smile.

"Pretty much, yeah," Tony nodded. He looked out over the city, the wind ruffling his hair. "You need a minute? Because I can..." His voice trailed off as Steve shook his head.

"I've got an appointment with my tailor, apparently," Steve replied, releasing his death grip on the rail and running his fingers through his hair. "And I'm probably going to be late as it is." Tony smirked, gripping him by the shoulder and steering him inside.

"It's cool, don't worry," Tony insisted. "The alien tech is locked in a supply cupboard at SHIELD, it'll still be there when we're done. We'll go deal with it then."

"Is that safe?" Steve asked warily.

"As safe as letting a bunch of government employees poke around with something like that to begin with," Tony shrugged. They paused at the stair landing and Steve smiled.

Bruce was dancing with Natasha, the pair of them laughing at Thor who appeared to be attempting to teach Pepper some intricate form of Asgardian dance to a Beatles tune. Clint was sitting on the back of the couch with a wolfish grin, his head swung up, sensing their presence and Steve braced himself for the look of pity but it never came. Instead he gave them a conspiratorial wink, turning his attention back to Thor. Steve smiled, maybe they were going to be ok as a team.

"Where do you think you're going without shoes?" Tony demanded finally, shooing him up the stairs. "What are you, seven? Go put on some shoes. Am I the only adult around here?"

"No that honor belongs to Pepper," Bruce declared, gently twirling Natasha before pulling her back into his arms. She and Pepper both bit back a laugh as Clint slow clapped. Steve just shook his head, turning to climb up the second set of stairs toward his suite.

They were definitely going to be ok.

* * *

Note:  
Bhambi's Custom Tailor's of New York actually exists and they are celebrities in the own right in the field of men's fashion. I borrowed them for this story because Tony Stark would settle for nothing but the best.


End file.
